Cuidad Perdida, mi pierna esta enfermedad!

Cuidad Perdida, the lost city, now the found city - as the crow flies, 26km from the nearest village, 39km from the nearest paved road, into the Tyrone RAINforest. 

Guide books always overplay the danger and the effort required for some activities to filter out the uncommitted, so it was with knowledge an effort was required but without the clarity of the task before me that I booked myself onto the 5 day hike to the lost city.

Day 1:  After a night in, La Briza Loca the noisiest hostel in Colombia, I awoke at 7am, packed my bags and was picked up and escorted to the tour office at 8am to catch the 4x4 to the base camp.  After 1.5hr wait, while dying for a decent morning constitutional and being denied the privilege, the delay became clear when we greeted the 4x4 which had been involved in a traffic accident the night before, it took another 30mins to finally get transport organised, a less than luxurious 4x4 of 1970s fame but it did the job.

The driver, a 20s something maverick roadster who spent most of the journey on the phone or yelling greetings to his many friends along the way and my partners in crime, the guides de force Miguel and Rodrigo and my fellow trekkers, two Belgium Chicas, German and Australian Chicos and a Colombian couple.

A bumpy 13km approach to Base camp from the relative luxury of the tarmac, a quick lunch, realisation I had packed way more than my fellow trekkers, removing a quarter of my pack contents, and it was onto the trail we went.

The first day would be a 3 to 4 hours hike, but the first hour was the worst, two river crossings - the 800m+ ascent in 30C+ heat and 80% humidity made for a tough climb - it was at this point I doubted my ability to complete the hike at all.  After quick refreshments via a tienda (shop) at 800m+, selling nothing else but Coca Cola, Gatorade, a pump of the inhaler and a fight to the death with a rumbustious duck (at 800m above sea level?) to keep hold of my orange - I lost - and we were on the trail again, this time a shorter climb to approx 950m and we found a plateau to recharge the legs and put the spring back in our steps.

On the last climb we lost the German to uncontrollable evacuations mid ascent and as the afternoons rains had arrived the guides were keen to press on with some urgency to keep to our pace, so we continued minus the German - when the rains came I first felt dread, then relief as the heat subsided, then dread again as the 600m+ decent became a challenging slide over rocks, mud and the increasing river of water that would plague us for the rest of the day - I not so much as walked down as surfed down on a wave of mud and water. We continued our ascent and decent pattern until arriving at the river crossing from hell... 4.5 feet (armpit territory for someone of stature) of rushing rain forest river! Gripping onto anything for sheer survival - guides, rocks, tree branches - and finally reaching the other side, the elation of the achievement and finally being free from mud in my shoes soon subsided on remembering my camera was in my backpack and my money and credit card were in my pocket, oops!

A short walk later and we arrived at camp 1, greeted by cold showers, the most deserved meal of 2012 and a hammock to sleep the night. Dinner was followed by a safety talk on checking your hammock before entering, checking your shoes before wearing, watching where you step at night, least you get bitten by a snake or a crab, instructions to not walk off in the middle of the night (who the f$&k would do that in the middle of the rain forest anyway?), many games of President and Asshole, general back slapping, moments revisited, a curious hour of uncontrollable laughter discussing the Aussies liking for British television and then it was off to the uncharted territory of a hammock, .
Day 2:  Based on our stellar performance the day before (really, are you sure?) over dinner last night the group decided to increase the pace and reach the lost city on day 2 to allow a more leisurely trek on the return trip.  Something I am glad on in retrospect but which made for a challenging day 2. 

After the challenge of day 1, I halved my pack size again at camp 1 and left the contents at camp 1 for pickup on the return trip - I had packed everything on the recommended list but found that there are only two outfits required, a wet one and a dry one, a towel, a pack of cards, a mini pillow for the hammock, as with my camera weighing in at a cool 2kg+ it was in my interest to slim my pack down as much as possible. - up here you wash and wear still wet, and with 5 to 7 hr hikes to look forward to you want to carry a little as possible

I awoke cold at 4am not to get back to sleep again, I tossed around in my sleeping bag for a while until I finally decided I would be better off out of the hammock and staring into space for an hour or so - the group rose at 6am and we were on the road after a quick breakfast by 7am, wearing the same wet clothes from the night before. 

7 hrs of rain forest trekking in one day is quite an achievement, the constant ascent, decent, river crossings, hiking in the heat and the rain etc takes it toll - the paths gradually get narrower and the conditions more treacherous - being knocked over by the pack on the side of a donkey, surviving 2ft wide paths of slippery mud and rocks, crossed by not so inconsequential streams and waterfalls, it was with mercy we reached camp 2, in the vicinity of the lost city, just before nigh fall and before the rains came, making the paths an n-1 life or death calculation and the river crossings doable without the same life flashing before your eyes experience as the day before.

As the group caught up with us front runners we claimed our beds (yes beds! bloody luxury!) - and glad I had the strength of mind to keep my mini pillow in my pack - another well earned meal - I think I am eating more in a day here than I eat on a regular weekend back home, you need the energy alright, but think I am going to come out of this trip without an ounce lost and my turtle intact.

Day 2 is the day I discovered the Colombian lady's phobia of cats - each camp has a dog and a couple of cats - now I am not an expert on cats but Ive met a few in my time and these cats are more on the cute and stupid end of the spectrum, one even had a leg missing - it was more of a comedy act than a threat, but even he caused a vertical reflex jump from a seated position on the picnic table style bench in one clean jerk, while shouting 'Puta!' at the top of her lungs - I'm not afraid of cats but Im sure startled by crazy Colombians!  Either the cat goes or she goes!  After that she retired to bed at 6:30pm without finishing her dinner, just to escape the cats. In a land of things that go bump in the night its bizarre behaviour to say the least.  After more time in Colombia I grew to understand that Colombian city folk are a pampered lot.

Day 3:  The trek to the lost city.  We awoke at a luxurious 7am (after a warmer night with two, yes two blankets, hoorah!), had breakfast and set off for the lost city.  The river crossing was challenging but not life threatening (OK it was but its all relative after the 2 days Ive just had) and then it was the steps of death, 1200 well crafted, wet and moss strewn, read: treacherous none the less. After the first few meters I poised my camera for the classic shot and discovered it had given up the ghost overnight - the lens was fogged up, the viewfinder was fogged up, the meter setting wouldn't hold, the LCDs were on then off then on then off, and when they were on they were as equally fogged up and unreadable - so I progressed with a blind and ambitious photo kamikaze tour of the lost city and I am still not sure if I have managed to get any lasting pictures of the lost city or not. Two weeks on the screen is still dodgy, the metering is not reliable and the various buttons dont do what they purport.

At the final altitude we looked back at our achievement with the knowledge that now we must walk all the way back again - apparently in one months time they open a different return route, good for the soul but not for my belongings I ditched at Base and Camp 1.

After a walk  back down through the city and the river we got to explore some of the size of this place - you need a few days to explore this place in detail - apparently inhabited for 300+ years then abandoned with the start of the 200 years of war with the Spanish, this place was never again been populated or used for its previous purpose, although there are a few twin hut dwellings scattered around the site.

Back across the river and a trek back to camp for lunch and we were on the trail again for the 3 day hike back to base.  Its surprising how familiar but how unfamiliar a trail can seem on the second pass, and how soul destroying it is turning that corner to find that downhill you remember and welcomed on first pass, is now an uphill fight to the death.

A pain has developed behind my knee on my left leg which is less than confortable and slowing me down but not debilitating, yet.

After a leisurely 3 hrs on the trail we were at camp 3 for another night in beds - I am starting to feel spoilt until I realise the catch is only one blanket! By this time I have got used to the Colombian way of bed by 8:30pm and rise at 5am so it was with surprise that tomorrow we will rise at 8am which meant we had 3 hrs more of 'President and Asshole' to play, but everyone was lacking the energy required to hold the cards so we called it a day at 9pm and I attempted to read before falling asleep.

Day 4: As per my usual timings I awoke around 6am to see the Colombian couple off (they were doing the trek in four days to be able to catch their plane home), but they hadn't told us they were leaving on donkeys! Bloody cheats! How can she be afraid of fluff ball cats but not these manky and unpredictable horses, donkeys or whatever they are? I spent the rest of the morning waiting for the rest of the group to awake by drinking sweet coffee and staring into space and forward planning my mental strategy for the day. 

After breakfast it was on the trail again for a 4hr trek back to camp 1 - picking up one of the honorary outrider positions making pace with the camp cook, or as I called her 'mi amiga caminando' (my walking friend) - this position I maintained to the last mile, which also afforded benefits in the form of cookies, cake and someone to look to for mental support when you turn the corner and catch the view of those ascents in your future.

Its today that I discovered the pain in my left leg from the day before had developed into a cramp which became a pulled tendon and plagued me for much of the days trek - the ascents were the worst and there was lots of that, the descents brought some relief but the pain of the ascent still haunted me.
The obligatory ~800m ascents and descents, walking in the heaviest rain yet, crossing a stream from day 2 that had become a river 4ft deep and its back to camp 1 for hot food, cold shower, another night of cards, mosquito bites and swinging in the hammock.  I seemed to have survived with around 12 to 15 bites on my legs and arms whilst the Belgian girls legs looked like an infestation of smallpox! ouch!

The stream that became a river was one thing I will not forget - the indigenous Indians believe that women and girls should be in touch with the earth to maintain fertility and so walk without shoes and may not ride a horse whilst the men wear wellington boots and ride horses, a stark contrast to our western approach to the sexes - this was not wasted on one of the Belgians who was actually born in Colombia, a fierce feminist and a tour de force in her own right, often to be found near the rear, taking, talking, talking and when the rains came, finding a store of energy to come from last to pole position by streaming past you on the trail at 100km an hour to avoid another chest deep river crossing - anyway back to the indigenous, on a horse was a boy around 13 years and on foot was a girl around 8 years, the boy crossed the river on horse back and rode up the path with nothing more than a glance back, the girl was left to her own devices to cross the river alive, I don't believe she would have made it across if it wasn't for our guide who waded back into the river to help her and myself across, simply put, I was in fear for her life and impressed at the foresight and generosity of our guide, remembering his perviously passing them on the trail and returning to assist.

At this point I chatted, or mostly listened, to my guides story and found out the cook was his wife and he has three children at home who depend on their tour income for everything, roof, food, education and health care. The oldest of 16 looked after the other two while they were on the trek - it really brings home to you the differences between your own life and the life of others while in these situations.

Day 5: The final trek home, again I awoke early, around 6am and spent the first hour of the day staring into space and drinking sweet coffee in the company of the cook - I did start to wonder why I don't go to bed at 9am and awake at 6am at home - there is something to be said for an hour of staring into space in the morning.

Breakfast, the return to wet clothing and its back on the trail again - this truly is the toughest part of the trek, the day starts with a short walk and a river crossing, then the ascent is relentless in 30C temperatures and 80% humidity, at around 10am you reach the plateau that marks the start final ascent to base.

The pain in my leg from the previous day had subsided and I managed most of the ascents without too much discomfort. On reaching the plateau and starting the long descent home, the decent I had waited for for so long, the injury became a downhill one and gravity was now my nemesis.

We escaped the rain on day 5, river crossings were tame, but the sun was hot and despite factor 40 sun screen I acquired a decent burn on the back of my neck.

The busiest part of the trail, a constant trail of donkeys and riders working like motor taxis to ship in goods for the mountain farmers and trekkers, including full sized pigs strapped to the side of the donkeys squealing in disgust and indignation as they are transported over bumpy trails legs poking straight out - those legs can give you a thud if you dont duck in time!  Youd better get out of the way when these donkey caravans approach, their cargo is heavy and I learnt my lesson early on.

'Mi amiga caminando y yo' make it back to base to find Sam the Australian feet up with a ice cold drink, having run down the final descent - damn his youth!  It was another hour before the Belgium girls arrive and Sam and I await with hungers that would kill the feint hearted - the fresh head of a cow displayed on a tree stump across the street looked mighty appetising righ there and then. 

Its Sunday, and while waiting in the ever watchful eye of the military the odd crack of gunpowder/explosive would fill the air, at first I was slightly distubred that none of the many townfolk or military were concerned, not only by this but also the many bars and pool halls competing in music wars, young men racing up and down the street on motorcycles while pint sized kids played on their cycles on the same road - exhaustion soon took over and I no longer noticed the explosive cracks (I soon realised it was the Colombian  high explosive version of bowls - how would they be able to tell which is bowls or a FARC attack?) or the noise of the music or the craziness on the street - I concerned myself with a secret exchange of love letters between a member of the military and a local girl, passed between them by a young girl of about 12.  This went on for several hours until we were back in the 4x4 on the bumpy road back to the highway and back to Santa Marta.

Experiences like this are supposed to teach you something, these are my lessons:

1. My willpower is stronger than my legs
2. (but) I am fitter than I though
3. Rain is good and bad
4. Travel light
5. Keep the faith and never relinquish your pillow

You need a souvenir to remind you of every trip, here are mine:

1. One pulled hamstring
2. A wet clothing rash on both legs and around my neck
3. Sunburn to the back of the neck
4. 30+ mosquito bites
5. Calouses on both bum cheeks
6. Very smelly clothes - two merino tshirts eaten by insects
7. A dead camera

Its one night in Santa Marta then back out to Tayrona national park to spend a day and a half on the beach to recover from 5 days torture and onto Cartagena for a day and a half to explore the old city before moving onto Zona Cafetero to meet up with Juan and drink some serious coffee - body shakes here I come!